I Have a Mouth but Cannot Scream
by PrincelyPastels
Summary: TW NONCON John is speaking impaired, and as a result of a loving father, he is watched for the weekend while dad is away by none other than Dave's older brother, "Bro". With the apprehension that Bro prompts, John has a very bad feeling about this entire ordeal.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: Doing extensive research on mutism, I have decided the degree of John's muteness is not so severe that he cannot make soft weeping noises, or soft laughs, since he isn't a true mute, which would mean absolute inability to make any noise. Thank you, and sorry if this seems like a trivial bit of information, but I see many fanfics that don't elaborate on the severity of a speaking impaired character, and thus, receive ridicule for having said character make grunts(which can be made by pushing air out of one's lungs and requires little to no vocal chord use) or crying noises by claiming a mute person makes no sound. To an extent they are correct, but in this case, I have made it quite clear this is not severe enough to follow those guidelines. Thank you._

You don't like this one bit. You've been to Dave's before, only caught a brief glimpse of his bro, nothing odd, he was just on the computer. Despite the mundane action, something had always seemed off kilter about the man. After probably feeling your deer-caught-in-headlights stare, he turned to look at you, to which you felt just plain stupid for looking so long to catch his attention. He offered a small nod, to which you bit your lip and headed for Daves room, he had and xbox smackdown with his name on it. A few hours of gaming chased away the creeping feeling in your gut, while he shouted and you huffed in triumph, bliss seemed to coat the vibe. "So what now, John?" Dave asked you, you supposed he was sick of getting his ass handed to him, being his best bro and all, you don't let on you know about his man-pride being hurt, and instead reach for your whiteboard. Your whiteboard is the dam of your thoughts and ideas, strictly controlled by you. Scrawling hastily you hope your words are legible, but a chicken scratcher like Dave could probably decode it in a jiff. "Wanna watch a movie?"

"Aw dude, that'd be so sweet, like better check my blood pressure, my diabetes be actin' up from these gargantuan levels of fucking sweet." He says to you. "You know where the movies are, as your trophy of beating my ass royally I will permit with whatever goofy movie you want, even something shitty with Adam Sandler, nasty ass douche thinkin' it's cool to trick some poor girl with short term memory, and I thought Marlin was bad until this son of a bitch came along fuckin' with Dory number two."

By then you had left his room, rolling your eyes and knowing just the fucking gem to pull out. An all time favorite in apocalypse movies, you could never go wrong with _The Day After Tomorrow. _That movie is off the shitdrive handlebars with awesomeness, Dennis Quaid plays the perservering father in search of his beloved son and not even a global ice age could stop him. Inner recollection of the awesome movie aside, an ice sheet formed in your core, again that uneasy swaying in your gut returned. Gulping a bit, you proceeded into the cluttered living room with caution, stepping over stray smuppets and wires. The feeling only seemed to intensify, as if some beast was watching you. It really was starting to freak you out. Abandoning all previous plans of navigating slowly and safely, you began to make a dash for the movie stack, fumbling for the movie so you could head for the hallway again.

Of course, all that nervous scrambling caused you to trip on wires that had snagged your foot, a sharp inhalation of surprise was your only response as you fell hard onto the floor. Cool air hit the skin exposed from your loose shorts hiked up from the fall, which you pulled down. Glancing at the wires that were responsible for the fall, you noticed a shadow of someone nearby. Your gut screamed. Get out. Get out of there _now_. Of course, you didn't listen. You took your time to get the movie off the floor and into your hands, glanced up to see the person you expected to be there. Bro. He was just... Standing there. Watching you. Weird. He offered a curt smile and continued his trek into the kitchen, glancing back often at your dumbfounded face.

Snapping out of it, you scurried into the hallway and dashed to Dave's room, extremely unsettled by the elder Strider. You never told Dave about it, figured the dude was just being the weird cool guy that Dave always painted him as. If it was Bro trying to be cool, he really was a loser. One movie later, you were passed out, face doodled upon for being the first to check into dreamland, and floating away from the uncomfortable encounters. Later, when you thought of it, there was nothing wrong with the meetings, he never said or did anything to cause the nausea that bubbled within you, so you chalked it up to one too many horror movies. Or something.

So why were you so against having him watch you for the weekend? "I'm fourteen now, I can take care of myself!" You had shoved the whiteboard into your father's well-shaven face, sharply exhaling out your nose to produce a defiant puff. "What if you fell, or hurt yourself? Nobody would be there to hear you fall, and I just want you to be safe." He had assured you, Bro just standing there, as if this whole ordeal wasn't about him not being wanted. "I know Broseph, which is a good option as opposed to, you know, finding a sitter who I may not know too well and thus can't trust with the most important person in my life."

Saddened and desperate, you wrote "Can't I come with you? I promise I won't complain about your shitty jokes, just don't leave me!" Shaking his head, he stressed that it was a very important business trip and needed you to stay here. With that, he left, and you watched him drive off, with each second your gut fell further and further as if it were slowly turning to lead. "So, where's the junk food?" You turn to him and scowl, peeved and hiding your insecurity with it. "Why isn't Dave here?" you wrote to him. "He's off with some other friend this weekend, you know, since there are more than just you that he likes to hang with." Dick. You knew that. He had Rose, and Jade and his cousin, Dirk... but you didn't really know anyone else. Not that it mattered. You guess. "Food?" He asked again.

"In the fridge, where NORMAL people put it." You wrote as a retort, to which he frowned at you, though said nothing. Instead, he arose, heading to where he was directed and came back with a bag of doritos. Your bag of doritos. You seated yourself on the opposite end of the couch, doodling on your whiteboard idly, even though dad always gave you an earful about the amount of ink that you went through because of the self indulgence. You could feel him staring at you, and it was starting to make you feel vulnerable. You looked at him, brows furrowed questioningly. He shrugged and turned his attention to the TV, some weird ass nature documentary. Returning to your drawing, you felt him looking at you again, you could see his blurred head turned towards you out the corner of your eye.

Shuddering, you figured it was time to head up to your room. You were really skeeved out. You left your board on the couch, a hastily written "Going to take a nap." on the board. He glanced over at it and said nothing, though as you headed up the stairs, his head followed, like a vulture watching it's dying prey. Ugh. "dude, your bro is super creepy." you sent to Dave via pesterchum. Minutes ticked by with no reply, then an hour. "bluh, FINE dont answer my messages hope whoever youre with is totally cool and making you have a great time!" rancorous seemed like the perfect status to mirror your mood just about then. Maybe it was time for a nap, seeing as all your friends seemed to have decided one day to collectively not be hermits. Your bed was soft and inviting, the sheets pleasantly warm when wrapped around your lithe form. Just a few minutes couldn't hurt...


	2. Chapter 2

It was almost as if the heat built up in the pocket of the blankets you were covered within were a living being, holding you loosely and ensuring a comforting sense of security. The covers were the generator of the warmth, which weighed your limbs down so when you awoke, the groggy daze you were in kept your movements limited. Something had disturbed you, but as you looked around blearily there was nothing spotted in your blurred sight. Everything held a light tint, nearly glowing with life and light. _Just a few more minutes._ The heat was receding, the covers slipping. Grumpily, you snatched for them again, yanking them over you, though they seemed to keep slipping just over your legs. In the sluggish stream of thoughts, you figured it was good enough, and rolled onto your side, the pillow beneath your head a godsend that lulled yourself back into sleep. You dozed off looking at the partially cracked door of your room, opened just enough to see light beam in a thin strip across the carpet, how the material of it skewered the light to make wobbling edges of a glowering shape. It hadn't occurred to you that you had closed the door earlier when you had entered your room.

When you had drifted back to sleep, dreams seeped into your mind, brief, incoherent strips of thoughts warped in with memories and blurred, what did and didn't happen were no longer two discernible things, they had melded together, what Dave did or didn't actually say was irrelevant, for it was being dreamed of regardless. One moment you were on the couch with Dave, talking smack and arguing over something without actually arguing, and the next moment you were alone on the couch, looking about to see if your friend had pulled a fast one on you. Somewhere in the back of your mind you knew this was a dream. Then it came. That horrid feeling, the lurch of your nerves. You didn't have to turn around to know someone was behind the couch, standing there and staring down at you. _Wake up. _Something was touching your leg.

You closed your eyes, opened them again to find yourself on your back in your bed, the light breaking through your blinds. You were convinced it was still a dream. The blur of things around you were unidentifiable, but you had processed there was a form other than yours in the room. Just above you, it seemed to linger. The light kept them a dark silhouette, features you couldn't make out even if you tried. It spoke. It was as if you were under water, and the words were nothing but incoherent babbling, a crooning tone, almost. Something was still touching your leg, sliding up the flesh in a petting sort of motion, drifting up higher and higher with each motion. You turned your head, again hearing the crooning, the touch retreating and leaving you to roll onto your side, unable to realize this was not a dream at all.

An hour or so later, you finally arose, the sun having nearly fully retreated, sinking into a sunset and letting night seep into the sky like ink. Your limbs ached, but your core was wide awake and fully rested. Glancing at the clock, you curse yourself in your thoughts for sleeping so late, you hadn't even eaten anything today! Grumbling, you stretch yourself and roll about the covers, reluctant to get out of bed but your cotton mouth begged to be quenched. When you finally stood, glasses on your face and clothes neatened, your eyes zipped to a white glare that caught your eye for a moment. It was... your whiteboard? You could have sworn you left that downstairs. Ugh. Bro.

You checked pesterchum, still no sign of any of your butthead friends. Go figure. Grabbing the whiteboard, you realized the marker was not with it. Yet another begrudging reason to go downstairs. Taking a sharp, deep breath, you head out of your room and downstairs into the living room, the Strider lounging on the couch and watching something you didn't really care about. Stepping in the line of sight between Bro and the TV, you tap your foot impatiently, releasing a brief huff. "Awake, sleeping beauty?" He asked, moving his head to one side to continue viewing his show, to which you shifted to stand in his way again. "What's up?" He asked, getting the fact that you want his attention. Lifting your board, you mime writing on it to which he immediately grins, rummaging into his slacks and holding up the marker in question. Hand extended, you flex your palm to gesture you want it back, to which he just laughs, holding it in place until you grab for it, which makes him yank it just out of reach.

This goes on for a minute or two, you reaching for it and the jerkface just yanking it back and away, until you finally have had enough and straddle him on the couch, desperately reaching for the much needed marker, fingers brushing over the cylindrical cap for the briefest of moments. A bouncing chuckle causes you to shift your attention to Bro, realizing just how uncomfortably close the two of you are. He offers you the marker one more time, you don't bother reaching for it, though, seeing as he'd probably just pull way again. You can see him roll his eyes through his shades, his hands opening your palm and placing the marker into your hand. Upon realizing this, you jump up, embarrassed at how stupid you were to just jump on him like that, if anyone was acting creepy it was you. Or, at least that's how you felt. "Was that it, kid?" He asks, and you nod, strolling into the kitchen. Yep. Glass of water sounded great right about now. You didn't feel right, it was a seasickness kind of feeling, like everything was swaying and you were not safe with such acute slants.

The water was no help, just ice cold running down into the pit of your gut, slicing through your chest uncomfortably on its journey there. You were loath to leave the kitchen, but you left anyways. He was watching TV still, didn't seem too bothered when you passed by, so far so good... You had placed your foot on the first step of the stairs until Bro spoke up again. "Hey, I ain't one for manners, but last I checked it's rude to just up and leave a guest alone his entire stay when he's supposed to be _watchin_' ya." You stood still, scowling to yourself. "Which means come over here and sit." He said, his tone was commanding while holding a confident lilt. Reluctantly, you retraced your steps until you were in front of the couch again. "Good boy, now sit." You signed with your hands, "I'm not a dog!" pointlessly. Not like he knew sign language or anything. Despite signing, you sat obediently, crossing your arms and glaring something awful at the man that you were facing, the armrest jabbing uncomfortably into your shoulderblades. Not that you cared. He didn't seem too pleased by your look.

"Speakin' of rude, that's all you've been to me. Hella rude. I come in and you ridicule me, abandon me for hours on end, and leave me to pick up your board. And then," As he spoke in a near growl, his body turned towards you before he scooted close enough for you to feel the heat of his body, "you go on and tease me like that before just getting' up and leavin' like it was nothing." By now, you are extremely confused by what he means, and you hastily scrawl onto your board before he grabs it, setting it on the ground beside the couch. The hairs on the back of your neck are standing straight up, your legs are twitching with the message to run and get the hell out of there, but for some reason nothing properly responded. He caught your look of confusion and shook his head. "Teasin' me while you reached for the marker. In my hands" He further explained, pressing his chest against yours and looking down at you, practically having your body pinned beneath his and he knew it. He was loving it. "Squirming all cute like while you puffed and huffed, if I didn't have that marker in my hands, I would have grabbed those cheeks right then and there." He didn't add the part that if he didn't have the marker, you wouldn't have been in his lap. You could feel him trying to twist the situation, and you were frozen, unsure of what to really do. On one hand you argued with his words, on the other, you tried to think of a way to get out of this unsettling trap. You felt a hand slither up your leg. Something clicked.

Finally, your priorities shifted to getting free, and you began to squirm, arms shooting up to try and hit the man above you. You landed one good hit upon his mouth, to which he froze a moment, as if shocked you had managed to actually hit him. There was your chance. With his weight shifted, you managed to wriggle out of his grip and flop onto the floor below, the hard wood making your bones ache from the impact. Unfortunately, that was as far as you got, because he was on you again, a crushing grip of fingers hooking into your sides and slamming you onto your back hard enough to knock the wind out of you. You struggled pathetically to breathe while you squirmed once more, hands swinging and legs kicking while your lungs screamed at your paralyzed diaphragm to work properly once more. Everything shrieked in agony, your body shaking from fear at how suddenly horrific things had turned. "Fuckin tease." He growled, hovering over you again and pulling your small frame downwards until his crotch pressed against yours. You began to panic, on top of all the other emotions, helplessness began to froth over it all, making your eyes burn as they watered with useless tears. He thrusted once against your clothed form. Twice, enough to make you shake your head, your mind screaming but not being able to transfer it verbally. _Please._ You pleaded in your mind, looking up to the man who was busy smirking down at you, amused at how shocked you were, it would seem. His very eyes mocked you with how stupid you were for ignoring your gut, for letting this happen. It was your fault, and his eyes did not regret telling you so, nor did his smirk, which you could feel even when pressed against your noncompliant lips. You opened your mouth to bite at his lip, Bitter blood immediately attacking your tastebuds as he pulled away, a heavy hand falling onto your cheek and sending you into an unsettling numbness. Your body buzzed with activity, but you couldn't process it, couldn't even begin to fight back as he rutted against your hips. After the numbness wore off, you laid there on the floor softly hiccuping away the tears. You could _feel_ him against you, feel his hardness and there was nothing you could do. _Oh god, god, god please, please no, please._

"So well behaved, guess all you needed was a little discipline." He purred, a tone that was down right sickening. You fought the urge to wretch. "How would you like it if I fucked you here and now?" He asked, to which you shook your head again, body still writhing, though restricted by his weight pinning you down and firm hands holding your hips in place. He ignored your protest, rutting into you once more before that awful chuckle attacked your ears, haunting you like a ghost. "Gettin' hard real fast, kid." You didn't want to hear this, you didn't want to hear any of this. You wanted dad to come home, you wanted him to come home right now. You didn't want to be beneath Dave's older brother while he did this to you. You wanted it to be a fucked up, vivid dream, it had to be a dream, this couldn't be happening, not so suddenly, not ever. This wasn't happening.

His disgusting, piggish hands groped for your own crotch, to which you were sickened by your own body's reaction. You were beginning to grow dizzy, everything was spinning and you had no hopes of getting out of this. A hand grappled at his arm weakly, a silent plea for him to cease, but Bro shirked it away, reaching into his pocket with one hand, and just as you had begun to move, he hissed. "Don't even think of runnin'" He warned, and you feared for your life what would happen if you did. It was enough to keep you frozen. Like ice, you remained in your place practically shattering when the fabric of your pants were yanked off of you, the material stinging somewhat from where it slid down. The only thing that could be heard was your quick, sharp breaths, fluttering, and staggering into the occasional soft sob. His lips burnt like dry ice, leaving goosebumps over your neck and trails of saliva where his kisses had been made. You realized what he had pulled out of his pocket earlier and everything snapped. You may have been young, but you were well aware as to what lubricant was and what is was used for. You looked him right in the eyes, chest rising and falling faster and faster as you fought to catch the air that was escaping you. You hoped that by looking at him he would realize what he was about to do, that he would stop. The worst part about hope is that it's a fool's emotion. A fool who has lost so much already hopes not to lose what he has left, which he always inevitably does.

Teeth kneaded skin between them, making your breath hitch, back arch and hands shoot to push against his chest, how you yearned to be able to say no. His teeth, his erection, his hands, his hot breath falling on your chest, bare despite you not recalling him pulling it off, the same as how you didn't recall his hand pumping your own cock. Shivering, you tried to move your hips away, only resulting in his grip tightening, making a choked noise of distress escape from you. He didn't warn you, he didn't warn you that a cold, fleshy head of his penis would be lined up with your entrance, steadily and guiltlessy shoving into you. You scratched urgently at his back, feeling the skin slice beneath your nails and trail small beads of blood, no where comparable to the pain you were currently enduring. You opened your mouth, you tried to scream, nothing but sharp, erratic gasps came from you as he pushed more and more and more and more into you. It seemed as if it would never end, this hellish impaling. Even with the lubricant it hurt, by which point everything began to become choppy, as if in last minute freeze frame photos. You heard a part of him grunting while you bounced up, light, swirling mind processing the Television still blaring a show you couldn't recall. You could hear him telling you how cute you looked asleep, ho cute you looked then. Then it was blurred, his actions, moans, commands, strikes and your quick, fleeting breaths were meshed together, slowing down at times. You could feel the wood begin to chafe your back, his hands on your wrists and teeth in your neck. You remember seeing him pull back and hold that horrible, evil, smug smile. You weren't sure when he stopped moving, but he had, and your grip seized tightly once more after he pulled out, the ominous feeling of something dripping down below adding dread to the list of what you could feel. You gagged a moment, his body still pressed against you while he panted and stroked your hair. "Good boy." He sighed, pressing those repulsive lips on your forehead.

You shirked away from his hold, and he let you. The bastard let you get up, shaking legs making you have to grasp onto the railing as you stumbled upstairs. You needed a very long shower, and decided you would be out after an eternity. Because even you knew that no matter how hard you tried the hot water would not wash away this feeling of filth that was clinging to your skin and soul.


End file.
